


Not a Dark Lord But a Queen

by Lasgalendil



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Improper use of magic, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Steggy - Freeform, steggy positivity week 2K17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil
Summary: On April 9th, 1932, a muggle girl named Margaret Elizabeth Carter received an unexpected letter.…on her eleventh birthday, the witch who called herself Peggy Carter began making plans.





	Not a Dark Lord But a Queen

Steve Rogers was just a sickly, skinny Irish boy. He was used to being looked down upon.

Two weeks ago, he’d found out he was a wizard.

And now here he was on the Hogwarts platform, clutching at his mother’s hand like a cry baby. Don’t cry, he told himself. If you start crying, they’ll never let you stop. You saved your tears for the darkness at the orphanage when ma was working, and you sobbed softly into a pillow and you cried yourself to sleep.

“You’ll be alright, Steven,” Sorcha soothed him. “I can’t go with you, love. But I’ll write. And you’ll be home soon, for Christmas.”

“I don’t want to go, mama,” he scuffed his threadbare shoes. “Can’t I just go to school with Bucky and all the other boys?”

“Them boys are Muggles, Stiofan,” she knelt and told him gently. “And your papa was a wizard. They won’t let us be Irish, they might take our names and our tongue, our very religion but I’ll be damned if they take the magic from you.”

“I wish Bucky were coming, too,” Steve said. His shoes had become very interesting. 

“Bucky’s a good boy, our very best boy,” Sorcha promised. “He’ll write to you. Everyday, even. The two of you are thick as thieves! There’s not a body in the village who doesn’t know it.” 

“Bucky don’t got an owl, ma,” Steve sniffled, and tears began to fall.

“Well, then,” Sorcha kissed him. “He’ll send them to the house and I’ll send them along. Off you, go, love.”

* * *

 

Steve Rogers was a sickly, skinny Irish boy. His da was dead, his ma was poor, and didn’t have much to give him, and he couldn’t figure out why his trunk was so damned heavy. It wasn’t a fancy trunk, not like the magic ones tottering after their witches and wizards. And he certainly wasn’t a seventh year, couldn’t vanish it from the platform to appear in the overheads. So he lugged it along the cramped corridor, and tried to find himself a seat.  
  
And finally, at the very end of the train, there was a compartment with the door open.  
  
“Hello?” Steve called. 

“Hello!” A bright, pretty girl with bushy brown hair said. “I’m Peggy Carter. You’re a Muggle.”

Steve flushed.

“Oh, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m a Muggle, too. I’ve only just found out, of course,” she held up a leather-bound book, _Of Muggles and Magic: A Modern History_.

“I’m Steve,” he offered, and wiped the fringe from his face as his heart continued to pound. “How did you know I was a Muggle?”

“Your trunk. It isn’t magic. And you obviously haven’t got anyone to enchant it for you, so you’ve no wizard or witch in the house,” Peggy said, and all very fast. “Ergo, you are a Muggle.”

“You’ve got an enchanted trunk?”  
“Oh, yes!” she said brightly. “I bought it a Flourish and Botts. New model, top of the line. Expansion Charm, wick-a-way wax, a moleskin lining. It’s even got a library! It’s the best trunk there is.”

“Mum and I couldn’t afford anything at Diagon Alley,” Steve said. His shoes had gotten extremely interesting again. “I got my robes and books and things all second hand. And on scholarship.”

“Well, that’s rubbish,” Peggy tutted, and pulled out her wand. “(Willow. Nine inches. Bendy. Veela hair. Mr. Ollivander tried to warn me off, said it could be temperamental, but I told him so was I, so that’s that.) We’ll just have to enchant it, won’t we. I’ve only just begun, but all the spells I’ve practiced have worked for me.”

“You’ve your own wand?” Steve said, feeling awed and a little glum all at once. 

“You don’t?” Peggy blinked.

“’S my pa’s.”

“Oh. So you’re _not_ a muggle-born, then?” Peggy asked, confusedly.

“Yes. Well, no,” Steve frowned. “It’s just my pa. He died. But my ma’s a Muggle, so—“

“Oooh!” Peggy exclaimed, and clapped her hands. “Which house? I mean which family, but also which House—you know, I’ve read all about them in _Hogwarts, A History_ and I should hate to be in Gryffindor, wouldn’t you?”

“Gryffindor is the best house!” Steve protested. “Where dwell the brave at heart!”

“More like the naive,” Peggy sniffed. “From what I’ve read they’re all brawn and no brain, and most of them are bullies.”

Steve hadn't thought of that. And he certainly didn't like bullies! “Well, where would you go?”

“Oh, I should think Slytherin.”

“Slytherin!” Steve said, shocked. “Why on earth would you want to go there?”

“Before I found out a was a witch, I wanted to be Prime Minister,” Peggy said primly, shoulders straight. “And I should think it should come in quite useful.”

Steve stared. “You can’t be Prime Minister. You’re a girl!”

“Why not?” Peggy answered crossly. “I should think it should make the task much easier. And once I’m Minister of Magic—“

“There’s a Minister of Magic?” Steve asked, a little awed at the girl-who-would-be-both.

“Of course, silly! What have you been reading? Here,” she thrust a book at him with an embellished cover. “ _A History of Magic_. It’s quite useful. And as I was saying, once I’m Prime Minister and Minister of Magic, I’ll write to have the Statute of Secrecy overturned, and abolish the Monarchy, it’s a rubbish establishment, don’t you think. Then Wizards and Muggles and everybody—even English and Irish!—can all live happy and equal and we can all have magic and medicine. Won’t that be fun?” Peggy gushed. “Well, what do you think? Do you want a button?” she thrust one of those at him as well. Margaret Elizabeth Carter, it read. Witches’ Rights are Women’s Rights. “My mother was a suffragette,” she sniffed. “It’s only reasonable.”

Steve blinked, a little dazed. “My pa was a Gryffindor,” he finally spoke.

“Oh. And I’m sure he was lovely!” Peggy said, unruffled. “Would you like to be my secretary? You have very tidy handwriting,” she gestured to the tag on his trunk. “It could prove quite useful. And I can pay you, you know. It’d be a real job and everything. I’ve worked out a currency conversion. The goblins at Gringotts were quite helpful, and very supportive. They took more buttons than anyone, and contributed to my campaign. It’s just awful, isn’t it? That magical creatures can’t have wands or practice magic? All because they aren’t human,” Peggy huffed. “You’ll see. It’s rubbish. Care of Magical Creatures, indeed! It’s all rather Capitalistic, don’t you agree? I wouldn’t force an owl to deliver my letters, not when I could pay to use the post. And I wouldn’t dare purchase a cat, what if it was a Kneazel?”

Steve stared intently at his well-worn shoes and tried to catch his breath. He blinked a bit more. “I’ll probably be in Hufflepuff.”

“Well, what’s wrong with Hufflepuff?” Peggy bristled. “They take everyone there, and value everyone for their own strengths, not some outdated ideas of worthiness. If you ask me, the other houses are rubbish. We get quite enough of meritocracy in our own world, don’t you think?” 

Steve blinked again. Peggy rolled up her sleeves. “Now, about that trunk of yours, a simple hover charm, don’t you think?”

“You can do a hover charm?” Steve's voice cracked.

“Well, I am a witch,” Peggy insisted. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I’ve got the book right here. What’s the worst that could happen?”  
  
And indeed, it turned out, the clever young witch who called herself Peggy Carter could do a hover charm.  With the right book and enough determination, of course, anything was possible. Steve's trunk began to float.  
  
“Oy!” the trunk shouted.

Steve squealed. The trunk dropped. Peggy shouted something that sounded like “Stupefy!”

“Stupid yourself!” Steve’s trunk retorted, rattling on its hinges. “Lemme out!”

“Oh, Gods,” Peggy paled, paging furiously through her book. “I’ve gone and made it sentient!”

“No,” Steve said, laughing for the first time since he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter. “That’s just Bucky.”  
  
Peggy’s eyes went wide. “You smuggled a Muggle onto the Hogwarts Express!” she hissed.

“I didn’t mean to,” Steve flushed, releasing the latch.

“Like hell I was letting you get on that train by yourself,” Bucky grumbled, unfolding himself and smoothing his unruly hair. “Like Sorcha could afford to send you off to school. ’S suspicious, that’s what. Knew it was too good to be true. Figured they were taking you to a workhouse, or something.”

“And your solution was to stow away with him,” Peggy said. “Fascinating.”

“I’ll fascinate your face,” Bucky growled. “Daft English dame.”

“Gryffindor,” Peggy huffed. She flicked her willow wand on her skinny wrist, and Bucky’s wrinkled clothes righted themselves. Even his undone cravat found itself in a full Windsor knot.

“H-how’d you do that?” Bucky asked, moving to put himself between her and Steve.

“’S alright, Buck,” Steve put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s just a witch. Like me.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, looking between the two of them. “Always knew there was something special about you, Stevie. Always said, dinnit I? And now you got magic!”

Steve shrugged and scuffed his shoes again. “Still gotta learn it, Buck.”

“Technically, your friend is a wizard, whereas I’m a witch because I’m a girl. It’s a rubbish distinction. I think I’ll do away with it, don’t you?”

Bucky stared. “You don’t look like any witch I’ve ever read about.”

“Oh, perhaps you’re a Ravenclaw, after all.” Peggy giggled. “Give it a century, boys. I’ll be the only witch anyone reads about.” She shoved a blinking MARGARET ELIZABETH CARTER FOR MINISTER button at him. “Here. Have a button.”

* * *

“I think,” Bucky whispered a little while later when the trolley witch had passed with pasties and pumpkin juice and chocolate frogs, “I’m terrified and a little in love with her.”

“Yeah,” Steve wheezed, and it hadn’t a thing to do with his asthma. “Me too.”  
  
  



End file.
